A Child of Convenience
by RaineArilan
Summary: Wolfram was mad almost every day now, Yozak busy teasing him into a violent froth. Hube had a baby of his own and all the rest of Them were too busy to notice anything. Greta walked down the hallway alone... Yuuri had been gone a very long time this time.


A/N: Maybe a bit fluffy and definitely more realistic than fun but no real warnings. I think it might read a little long, but this is what the muses told me to write so it's not like I have a lot of choice in the matter.

Not mine.

* * *

"_YOZAK_!"

Greta flinched just a little as Wolfram barreled past her, face and knuckles white with rage, chasing after the laughing red-head. She considered calling out to him, asking him to play with her, even went so far as to lift her hand, her lips parting softly. But the words died in her mouth, unsaid. Wolfram was very mad right now. Yuuri had been gone for a long time this time. A really, really long time.

Wolfram was mad almost everyday now. Sometimes he would pick her up and hug her so hard that she couldn't breathe. Sometimes, if she asked, he would sit with her and read her a story, but his eyes would slip off the page and he would look out of the window and sometimes he would get the words wrong, or he would stop reading altogether.

Greta dropped her hand to her side and walked slowly down the hallway, making sure her feet stepped in the very middle of the stones. It was a game Yuuri had taught her, a very special secret. She could almost see him, his black eyes sparkling, as he leaned down and told her in a whisper that, when he had to go somewhere he didn't want to, when Gunter wanted to make him study or Gwendal wanted him to do paperwork, he would walk very carefully through the hallways, making sure not to step on any of the cracks.

They had spent a whole afternoon once, walking down one long hallway _very_ slowly. She had giggled when he had hit a patch of especially small stones and had tried to stand on his very tip-toes, overbalancing and falling on his butt. He had laughed with her. She liked it when Yuuri laughed.

A familiar figure in brown appeared in the cross-hall in front of her, making Greta freeze, one foot in the air. Conrad paused to speak to the guardsman that stood on post there, the top half of his face kind of crumpling in on itself like it did when he was worried. Probably about Yuuri. Greta knew. Conrad liked everyone, but he loved Yuuri the best. She didn't blame him. She liked Yuuri the best too. But when the guard saluted and Conrad turned to go she didn't call out to him either.

Greta didn't know if she liked Conrad very much. He always smiled at her, a kind of squinty smile, when she wanted to play with him. Like he thought she was being silly, but that was okay, because he would let her be silly. He never acted silly though. And _Yuuri_ didn't think she was silly. When Yuuri was around, Wolfram didn't either.

The back of Greta's mouth started to hurt as she began breathing heavier through her nose, and she pinched up her face against the feeling. The guardsman was still standing _right there_ and, even if he didn't _look_ like he was looking at her, she knew he was. _All_ the guards looked at her. That was their job. They wouldn't talk to her. They wouldn't play with her. They would just watch and watch and, if she did something, they would tell. Even back with the Family they had been like that. All guards were like that. Greta hated _guards_.

Squaring her shoulders she gave up her game—it wasn't fun without Yuuri anyway—and walked down the hallway, passing the guard without looking at him. She kept right on walking until she got to the very end of the hallway and turned left. There was nothing left but another short hallway and a door. But behind the door was a staircase that went up and up and up.

Greta didn't even glance around as she slipped through the doorway and began to climb. Nobody ever came down here. Nobody used this staircase. She wouldn't have if _they_ did.

Face set, Greta kept climbing, thinking only of the little attic at the very top. It was just a corner really, at the top of the stairs, with a window that she could look out of if she wiped it off first. There wasn't anything up there, or there hadn't been when she had found it. There was now, but only her things. Nobody else used it. Like nobody had used the dark hallway near the dungeon cells in the Family castle.

Hube.

Greta paused on the steps and sniffed. She wanted Hube to be here. _She wanted Yuuri!_ Big, fat drops slid down her cheeks, filling her nose and making it run. Greta shook her head, sniffing really hard and swallowing. Blinking a lot, she kept on climbing. It wasn't safe yet. She wasn't in her corner. Not yet.

The stairs always seemed longer and longer every time she climbed them, but Greta was glad. The longer she had to climb, the farther from everyone else she was. From Wolfram who only loved her when Yuuri told him to. From Gunter who didn't like her at all. From Conrad who thought she was silly. From the guards who _watched_ and the maids who _hovered_ then ignored her the next second. From Hube who had a real daughter now and from Yuuri _who was never there_!

Her small fingers curled in on themselves, clenching white-knuckled just like Wolfram's had earlier. Tears still burned her eyes and she hated herself, because she didn't _want_ to hate Yuuri for leaving her and she didn't want to hate Hube because he loved someone else or Wolfram because he had to be reminded to care. She didn't want to hate anyone, but _why_ wasn't she good enough?

The world was a wash of blurry colors but even Greta could tell when the grey of the stone changed to the wood of the attic floor. Relief flooded her and she rushed up the last few steps, stumbling and catching her foot on the edge of the top step. Without a sound, she tumbled to the floor. The age-worn smoothness pressed into her right cheek as her knee began to throb. Absolutely, finally alone, Greta began to cry.

* * *

_Bad omen!_

The wind blew the distant bird-cry into his office as it tried to swirl a stack of papers off his desk. Gwendal caught them with the rapid _slap_ of one thick-fingered hand and a dark scowl. When the eddy faded, he stood and crossed to the open window, yanking it shut with just a little too much force, the click of the latch echoing in the silent room.

The bright flash of rapidly moving red hair caught his eye and Gwendal felt his left eyebrow twitch faintly as he spotted Yozak cheerfully attempting to outrun and out-dodge an irate, sword-wielding Wolfram. He sighed. After so long, the younger man should know better.

Yozak always won.

After all the trouble Wolfram had been causing him lately though, Gwendal didn't even consider opening the window again and ordering a stop to the fight. He glanced back over one shoulder at his paper-covered desk. Not one matter of actual concern in this latest lot. Just a hundred small fires that, if _certain people_ weren't in perpetually bad moods, would all have been averted to some degree or other.

_Ah, screw them all!_ Gwendal shoved himself away from the window and stalked out of his office in one smooth motion. Every scrap of real work had been done for days. The alliances were holding. The internal affairs had all been smoothed out. There would be no decisions made until the Maou came back. Not anymore.

It had been one thing when Yuuri had just shown up, when he had been a young, excitable figurehead. It was something entirely different now, when everyone knew that Yuuri was Maou in name and in reality. It was different when half the country knew that Yuuri wasn't here. Any proclamations made from the castle right now would either be quietly ignored, because it wasn't from Yuuri, which would undermine Gwendal's power, or they would be followed and obeyed, which would undermine _Yuuri's_ authority when he got back. If it began to appear that Gwendal was making his decisions for him….

And so, better to do nothing. Or, in this case, better to go for a ride to the south orchard and see how the early harvest was going. It was something he had always enjoyed doing, from as far back as he could remember. So long as you agreed to obey the Senior Harvester, anyone could volunteer to clamber up into the tops of the ancient trees, looking for apples to pick. Anyone, even the quiet, prideful son of the Maou.

Gwendal paused, then changed direction. If he had enjoyed it as a child then there was every chance Greta would enjoy the experience. With Yuuri gone and Wolfram in rare form, she probably hadn't left the castle in weeks. A ride would be good for her and an afternoon of hyperactive tree climbing would probably take the edge off her energy levels. He hadn't seen anything of the like so far, but Gwendal was dreading the day reports on Greta's restless antics crossed his desk.

Greta was no Wolfram. She was no impetuous firebrand. Greta was quiet, thorough and a very deep thinker. In short, she was a lot more terrifying than Wolfram could ever hope to be. Just look at how close she had gotten to actually murdering Yuuri when she had set her mind to it. A tiny child up against the might of an entire nation in an effort to assassinate the ruler of that nation? The highly powerful, magical ruler of that nation? And she had damn near succeeded. Just thinking about how close she had come still kept Gwendal up nights. They had stepped up security since then.

But not, it would seem, overly much. When he got to her room, Gwendal found them empty. According to the guard, she had gone to breakfast and hadn't returned. The library was empty and her tutor was off duty today. The kitchens likewise were devoid of her enthusiastic presence. Finally, Gwendal began to do something that, personally, he hated.

He asked the guards.

It went against the grain to do it. His men were there to protect the people in the castle, not to spy on them and they couldn't do their jobs properly if people began to feel that they were, in fact, spies. Spies were to be avoided and lied to. Guards were to be ignored until needed. It was a very big difference.

Greta, it would seem, had figured out that difference. Gwendal was beginning to get more worried than annoyed as he dismissed the guard he was speaking with. The last guard in any of the main areas of the castle. None of them had seen her since very early this morning and, if she wasn't in any of the areas he had checked then she could, quite literally, be anywhere in the castle. He would have to check the entire thing from top to bottom. Every nook and cranny. Every corner.

_Assuming,_ some dark and paranoid part of his mind whispered, _that she's even still _in_ the castle. No one's seen her since before lunch. If she's left…._

Gwendal put the kibosh on that thought almost before it began. If Greta had decided to leave the castle grounds, _and_ had done so without being seen by the gate guards—he had already questioned them on her whereabouts—then this situation had just spiraled out of his control. She had crossed _two countries_, admittedly with Huber's help, and nearly killed a king. Who knew where the hell she could have gone if she set her mind to it?

_But why would she?_ that evil part of his mind couldn't help but ask.

Gwendal ignored it, spotting Conrad up ahead and putting on a burst of speed to catch up to his brother.

"Have you seen her?" he asked, not bothering to waste time with a greeting. If Greta was out and about on her own then they didn't _have_ time.

"Anissina?" Conrad asked, stopping and frowning in confusion.

Gwendal snorted, dismissing all that was Anissina with a brisk wave of his hand. Terrifying, oh yes, but predictable. He could _handle_ her chaos. "Greta," he corrected, enjoying the increase in confusion on Conrad's face. His middle brother was far too sure of himself far too often.

"I… saw her," he narrowed his eyes until they were nearly shut, thinking, "two hours ago. I was speaking to the guards on duty outside the genealogical room."

Gwendal stopped, taking his turn to frown even as Conrad's expression cleared. "The bottom floor of the east wing? What was she doing over there?"

Conrad shrugged, earning himself a look from Gwendal that Gwendal had been told, by Yuuri no less, was an 'Older Brother type look. Like Shori gives me when he thinks I've done something stupid. I see it a lot.'

"You didn't ask." It was not a question.

"I didn't ask," Conrad repeated, and his _was_ something of a question, as if he couldn't quite understand why he hadn't. "Is something wrong?"

"I can't find her," Gwendal said, already moving toward the nearest hallway that would take him to the wing where Conrad had seen her. His middle brother kept pace. "You were the last one to see her so far."

Now Conrad began to look truly concerned. "She seemed fine. She was playing Yuuri's delaying game."

"By herself?"

"Yes."

"My Lord!"

They both turned as the dust covered messenger came up the front stairs toward them. From his uniform, it had to be news from the border.

"I'll handle it," Conrad said, stepping forward to intercept the other man. "Then find Wolfram. He's her father. If we're worried, he should be."

"He damn well should be worried _now_," Gwendal muttered, the frequent, but usually ignored, desire to kick his youngest brother's ass appearing in full force.

With strides as long and fast as Gwendal's it didn't take him long to get to the genealogical room and the guard there.

"She left, my Lord. Right after Sir Weller did," the man said instantly when Gwendal asked.

"In which direction?"

The guard pointed. "Out toward the wall, but there's no exit that direction, sir. I've waited for her to come back, but she hasn't yet."

Gwendal scowled. The man was utterly right. There was nothing that way at all. No way out of the castle proper, not even to get into the gardens or courtyards, much less out of the walls. There weren't even many rooms down that hallway, and all of those were empty. A place to play undisturbed perhaps, but there were enough of those a lot closer to her rooms. Places she could hide out that were a lot easier for her to get to.

Gwendal started down the hallway, only to be stopped by the guard's quiet, "My lord?"

He turned around.

"She… she didn't seem happy, my Lord. Not like she _wanted_ to go that way. Not like she was exploring, sir. More like she… _had_ to I guess."

"You have children?" It would explain the man's interest in Greta in a way that _wasn't_ sickening and creepy.

The guard shook his head. "Six older sisters, sir. A dozen little ones between them I have to watch."

"Ah." Close enough. "Thank you, guardsman."

"Sir!"

If he saluted, and he damn well should have, Gwendal didn't see it. It was late enough by now that there would be no trip to the apple orchard and he just wanted this over with. Strike that, he wanted to _find_ the girl safe and sound and then go do something far less stressful. This whole thing was reminding him far too much of when Wolfram had been little and had enjoyed scaring everyone by hiding and making them look for him.

Wolfram had been too loud and too impatient to wait in silence for long, but the mixture of fear and annoyance was quite the same. If Greta was doing this on purpose though, she would be waiting quite a bit longer in her chosen hiding spot before anyone tracked her down.

Before anyone even missed her.

Gwendal stopped then, right in the middle of the hall, thankfully out of sight of the guard and absorbed that thought.

If he hadn't blown off his last few hours of work, if he hadn't, on a whim, decided to take her to the apple orchard… when would she have been missed, and by who? No one. No one at all. Not unless they all met up for dinner, which was rare these days. _If_ Wolfram read her a bedtime story, which was also rare without Yuuri around. Her tutor would have come to complain to him after she hadn't shown up for an hour tomorrow morning and _if_ Gwendal had taken the complaint seriously they would've known she was missing around ten thirty _tomorrow morning_.

He felt cold, angry and somehow afraid. She was Yuuri's adopted daughter. His and Wolfram's. That made her his and Conrad's niece. She was, for all intents and purposes a member of the royal family! And she was a _child_!

The first finger on his right hand began to tap rhythmically along the outer seam of his pants. Someone, somewhere, had dropped the ball on this one and, once he found the girl herself, Gwendal fully intended to find out who and when and, if they dared offer him an excuse, why. Things did not fall through the cracks in Gwendal's castle.

There were three empty rooms along the hallway and a brief glance into each proved that they were still empty. There wasn't even furniture or draperies in them in which to hide. Which left him with one and only one option. The Pointless Tower.

It had had a real name once, but never, in its entire existence had it had a real purpose. The architect that had worked on this part of the castle had simply "felt" that there should be a tower there and so had put one in. A tower that was too small, by far, to have actual rooms in it. In the end, it had turned out to be a three story staircase that led up to nothing at all. A tiny "room" that was really more of a landing than a room. There was nothing in the kingdom that could, or should, be stored there.

As a hiding place on the other hand….

Hoping she was up there, because all the other options were far worse, Gwendal began to haul his grudging knees up three completely unnecessary flights of stairs. He really needed to get out from behind his desk a little more often.

* * *

Steps. Heavy, steady treads up the stairs. A part of her heard them and registered what they were, but most of her didn't care. She was too tired and she liked sleeping.

"Greta."

A voice, her mind categorized instantly. A man's voice. He wasn't happy.

Her body was moving in reaction and self-defense before she had quite fully woken up. Squeaking slightly, she threw herself backward, scrambling into the corner, into the shadows, and gasped, "I'm sorry!"

The big, dark form that filled the staircase, his head ducked to even be able to stand up this far, went still.

"Greta," he said quietly, his voice soft and some part of her recognized Gwendal, though she cringed anyway.

"How did you find me?" she asked, wanting to know even if it wasn't the best choice of action right now.

There was a slight silence and then he said, "I asked the guards."

Bile rose up in the back of her throat and her stubby, broken fingernails dug into her palms. It was a bubble of thought in the back of her mind, filling up her mouth and she had to, _had to_ say it! "I _hate_ guards!" It was spat with, of course, utter hatred and it nearly shook her with its force.

Again, the big shadow-within-the-shadows that was Gwendal paused. The dim light from the setting sun was enough to let her see his face pinch into a frown and then, to her utter shock, he folded up his long frame and sank onto the stair second from the top. His back was against the outside wall and his knees had to stay up near his chin for him to fit.

"Why?" he asked, sounding, for all the world, as if he _had_ all the time in the world.

Greta pounded her fists on the floor. "_Because_!"

"Why?" he repeated.

Greta glared at him and wished he would just _go away_! She didn't want him in her private spot and she didn't want him to make her feel better. He was just going to be like everyone else. He would go do something else soon too.

"Greta, why do you hate guards?" There was no more force behind the question this time than either of the first two times he had asked. It was just concerned and a little bewildered.

He reminded her of Yuuri.

"_Because_," she wailed without meaning to, "they always _watch_ me, but they don't care at all!"

There was a pause. "Do you want to know why I don't like guards?" he asked.

Greta frowned, confused, but nodded anyway.

Gwendal glanced down the stairs away from her, as if looking to make sure no one else could hear them and said, "They always tell Lady Anissina where I am."

Greta couldn't help it. She giggled, clapping her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound.

"It's true," he said mournfully. "They always tell on me. Even Conrad rats me out."

"I don't like Conrad either," Greta agreed, then froze, staring at Gwendal and waiting for him to get mad.

"Hmm."

She frowned. "Don't you even want to know _why_?"

His shoulders shifted, maybe a shrug in the tight place he was wedged into. "If you want to tell me."

"Well, he _laughs at me_!" she said, mad and triumphant. "He thinks I'm stupid and silly and he doesn't like me at all so I don't like him either!"

So there!

"Hum."

"And you know what?" she continued, on a roll and mad and he wasn't angry and someone was finally _listening_ to her! "I don't like the maids cause they make me dress up and pull my hair and stuff like I'm a doll and they don't want me to go out and run around and they don't like Wolfram to teach me to fight with a sword. But I don't like Wolfram _either_!" Her voice broke just a little bit.

"Oh?" His eyebrows sounded like they were up and Greta pressed herself further into the corner, her spine against the wall. 'Cause he was being _nice_ and he was making her want to cry again, but she was being _mad_!

"H…" She sniffled in through her nose 'cause it was trying to run again. "He doesn't like me! He doesn't want me but I don't _care_!"

She heard the rustle of cloth and felt herself panic because now he was going to leave, but all Gwendal did was ask, "Is there anyone you do like?"

"_Yuuri_!" she burst out, her throat hurt and her eyes hurt and her nose was running again, but she wasn't crying. She wasn't! "I like Yuuri but Yuuri goes away and doesn't come back and he makes no one like me anymore but he doesn't mean to 'cause he loves me. He says and he says he loves me, but he goes _away_!"

"Yes," Gwendal said, "he does." Then his voice changed to become slightly forlorn. "Don't you like _me_?"

Greta shook her head, swiping at her nose with the back of her hand. "You only like me cause of Yuuri too."

"Yuuri's been gone for six months, Greta."

She snuffled in confusion.

"And I came to look for you anyway."

"So?"

"Doesn't that mean I like you a little anyway?"

"No. It means you felt _responsible_." Her tutor had taught her that word. She hated that word too.

"Do you want to know why I came to look for you?"

Greta was frowning by now. "No."

"I used to live here when I was a little boy," he said anyway, "and it was years and years before Hahaue had Conrad. I was the Maou's son. I was 'special' and nobody would play with me. I didn't even have Yuuri. Just the guards and the maids and Gunter."

Greta snorted her opinion of _him_ as a playmate and heard a faint chuckle from the direction of the stairs.

"Exactly. But sometimes, when no one was looking, I would go out to the orchard and they would let me climb up into the trees and help pick the apples and cherries. I would come back all dirty and sunburned and my clothes would be all ripped up. The guards would get upset and the maids would get mad and Hahaue would laugh."

He fell silent and after a minute Greta couldn't take it anymore. "Then what happened?"

He grinned, the nearly vanished light catching on his teeth. "She would eat the fruit I brought back for breakfast the next day and say it was the best she ever tasted."

"Oh." Greta pressed her lips together and sniffled but her throat didn't hurt so much. She wondered how he had snuck out of the castle, cause if he could then maybe _she_—

"I was going to take you to the orchard this afternoon, but I couldn't find you," he said.

Greta felt her eyes go wide. "_Really_?"

"But we don't have to. I mean, if you don't like me then I won't make you spend time with me—"

"But I _do_ like you!" she burst out. "I like everybody I just—" She cringed a little bit and couldn't finish, but he finished for her.

"—think that no one likes you. It's a lie you know."

"It _isn't_!" she protested.

"No, we were all very bad and forgot you a little bit, but it doesn't mean anyone hates you, Greta."

"Yes, it does!"

"No," he said firmly. "It means that we aren't perfect. No one is perfect, Greta, and if you expect them to be then you're always going to get hurt and feel bad for the rest of your life."

She scowled at him and crossed her arms.

"It's true. Nobody is perfect, not even you and not even me or Yuuri. We do the best we can and sometimes we screw up. But…"

She kept glaring but had to ask, "But what?"

"_But_ if you want us to get better then we need you to tell us when we make a mistake. Then we can apologize and do it right the next time. If you don't tell us anything then it's a little bit your fault too, because we can't know that anything is wrong."

"Oh." She uncrossed her arms and sighed. She didn't _want_ it to be her fault. But she didn't _want_ a lot of stuff and her mother had said that wanting wasn't the same as having. But… but…. "What if they get mad?"

"Then you tell me," he said instantly. "Right away. No matter what I'm doing. I will never, ever get mad at you. I promise."

"Oh." She chewed on her lip, looking down at her hands and arms, at scars she couldn't see in the dark.

"Greta," Gwendal said very softly, like when he had just gotten here. "I can't fit in there."

She hesitated. She didn't want to, hesitate or leave, but he had _promised_. And Gwendal was a knight like Hube was. His word was important. Hube had told her.

"Greta?"

"I'm coming," she said and inched out on her hands and knees until she got to the top of the stairs, and then she stopped.

Big, warm hands grabbed her gently and pulled her into a bear hug that smooshed her nose into his green jacket. "I'm sorry," he rumbled beneath her. "I apologize, Greta."

"Me, too," she said and suddenly she was crying again and she didn't even know why, 'cause she felt better. And he didn't let her go the whole time and, when she stopped, he picked her up and carried her down and helped her wash her face before dinner and no one knew anything at all.

Except Conrad, 'cause he kept staring at her, not even pretending to find her silly until Greta had to glare at him and hide behind Gwendal until the 'adult drinks' were over and she could go to bed.

Gwendal was taking her to the orchard tomorrow though, for the whole entire day.

And she didn't have to like Conrad anyway.

* * *

A/N: Awwww! Gwen-ie! You big pile of fluffiness, you! lol Anyway, this is/was supposed to be a one-shot and I think it still is… except that Gwendal has some things he wants to say, and a blonde little brother he wants to kick in the ass for being one. Plus, Conrad really didn't mean to come across as a bastard and he kinda wants to have his say on this too. So I don't know. There might be another chapter or something. But maybe not. Gunter will, thankfully, remain conspicuously absent. I really hate him and his pedophile self. *sighs*


End file.
